


thinking we could not belong (to something so damn beautiful)

by raquians



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, bc i'm weak and can't write sad endings ever, other warnings in end notes, that would be the summary if i didn't have an excerpt as the summary, this is a fic about figuring out love and being accepted and aggressively loved by friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-06 11:09:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12816231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raquians/pseuds/raquians
Summary: Dylan, to his credit, doesn’t look anything more than bored and tired. His eyes look blank, and his face is neutral as he turns to Mitch. “So?”Mitch groans. “How the fuck does this even work? He’s supposed to date girls—that’s why—why we didn’t…”Dylan snorts. “No it’s not,” he corrects Mitch easily. “It’s because you’re a chicken shit.”Well. Okay. That was maybe uncalled for.Mitch isn’t arguing with him, because it might be true, but it was still uncalled for.





	thinking we could not belong (to something so damn beautiful)

**Author's Note:**

> If you or anyone you personally have connections to are mentioned above, please, please, turn away. I don’t claim to know anything about these boys, or their team, or their personal life. Everything in this is fiction, except, for like, the factual things that are public knowledge, like game scores, injuries, names, and so on. And even some of those things I skew, like facts about the dudes, some time lines, living arrangements, etc. But like. Everything else??? Nah. This is purely just a piece of writing done for fun. Okay. 
> 
> I haven’t finished anything in ages, and then this happens. I don't know how it happened, but it's definitely not my... most well-written piece, but it was written in just a few days work, and something I wanted to write just for the sake of writing. I'm not looking for perfect or ground changing, so I apologize if there's anything glaringly wrong. 
> 
> Title is from ‘Imagination’ by Shawn Mendes, runner up is “don’t wanna know the other side of a world without you” from “Other Side” by Ruelle. 
> 
> There are AU elements to this (besides the Auston/Mitch lmao), but not too many, so! That’s all I really have to say. 
> 
> See end notes for warnings! There are a few and I don’t want to make anyone uncomfy. 
> 
> This is not beta’d, sorry for any mistakes.

_Auston Matthews_ , Mitch thinks, laughing gleefully as Auston pushes him back against the door. Auston laughs, too, his warm breath caressing Mitch’s face. Mitch pushes up into him, pressing their lips together, and not even caring that their teeth are clicking together because of how wide they’re smiling—just— _Auston Matthews_.

Mitch doesn’t think his brain has calmed down since Auston scored his first goal tonight, and it only kicked further into hyper-drive with the second, third, and fourth. The loss slowed it down slightly—mellowed him out enough to be able to stand still without bouncing up and down, but the alcohol rejuvenated whatever the loss had taken away. He puts his hands on Auston’s hips and clenches Auston’s shirt in his fists, needing to do something with them, and really wanting to get moving. He tilts his head up, bumping their noses, bumping their chins, and trying to bite down on Auston’s bottom lip. He—he wants more, faster, they need to keep _moving_. Auston isn’t with the same program.

And then—Auston reaches up and grabs Mitch’s face between his hands, tilts his head back, and presses him more firmly against the door. Mitch feels his brain calm down, shut down, flip from hyper-drive to hyper-focus.

Auston traces his thumbs back and forth, back and forth over Mitch’s cheekbones. Auston’s fingers twine in his hair and hold his head steady, scratching Mitch’s scalp with his nails slowly, sending odd sensations down Mitch’s spine that he can’t quite name. He’s breathing through his nose, sending warm puffs of air against Mitch’s upper lip. And he’s _kissing him_ , slow, perfect. He bites Mitch’s lower lip, tugs it between his, traces it with his tongue, and releases it. He pulls away. “You good?” he asks.

Mitch opens his eyes, stares into Auston’s eyes, sees his blown pupils—isn’t sure if it’s because of the change in light, Mitch, or both—and nods. Auston grins and pulls Mitch over to the bed.

**;

Auston wakes Mitch up at 3 AM with a kiss. “Mitchy, I’m heading back to my room, Hymie is coming back soon from Willy’s.”

Mitch looks up at Auston through the dark, only sees his outline. “How’d you know?”

“He texted you, he’ll be back in five. I’m gonna head back to mine now.”

Mitch nods, reaches up and, still half asleep, grabs Auston’s wrist and pulls him in for a kiss. Auston kisses him, and pulls his wrist away enough so Mitch’s hand slips down into Auston’s. They hold hands for a few seconds, and then Auston pulls his away. “Put on some boxers at least before he gets back, _please_.”

“Fuck off,” Mitch mumbles, but sighs as he gets ready to sit up to do so anyways.

Auston laughs. “Night, Mitchy.”

“Night.”

**;

The flight home is quick and uneventful. Auston finds him afterwards, and Mitch nods sleepily at him. He leads him to his car since Auston had parked his at Mitch’s place before they left for Ottawa, and they get in and head home.

The first thing Mitch does at home after inviting Auston in is makes coffee. He fills his mug as soon as there’s enough in the pot, and then adds enough sugar to take away the bitterness, but leaves it alone apart from that. Auston is sitting at the island drumming his fingers and watching Mitch with a pensive look on his face, and Mitch realizes they’re going to have to talk about it. He, personally, hasn’t stopped thinking about it—fuck, he’s pretty sure he even dreamed about it—and because of that, he knows that they can’t do it again. They still need to talk about the fact that they can’t do it again, though.

“So,” Mitch starts, staring down at his coffee cup. “That… happened?”

Auston snorts. “Yeah, Mitchy, it happened.”

“And… you’re okay with it, right?”

Auston is quiet, and Mitch feels his heart stop. He looks up, fast enough that his neck twinges a bit, and Auston is staring at him. “Are you not?” Auston asks.

“I’m… fine with it,” Mitch admits, “just… for our… _sanity_ , I guess, I don’t know if it should happen again?”

“Sanity?”

Mitch shrugs, and looks away from Auston, and then decides that he needs to be a grown up and look Auston in the eye for this. “I mean, I don’t know if it’s the same for you, but you’ve gotta know I’ve had a thing for you for a while, right?”

Auston nods, and then adds, “it’s the same for me.”

“Yeah, so, we… maybe shouldn’t take it any further? It’d be too hard to try and… make whatever work, right? So we shouldn’t… lead ourselves on, should we?” Mitch wonders aloud. “We’d have to—you know, hide it, and we’d have thoughts of fucking up the team with us all the time, and… we can’t be together. So we can just like… we got it out of our systems, right?” Mitch waits for Auston to agree. It takes a minute, but eventually Auston nods, and then looks away. Mitch frowns. “So, we’re good?”

“Yeah,” Auston grins as he looks back at Mitch, small but reassuring. “We’re fine, Marns.”

“Awesome,” Mitch smiles, straightening up even while it feels like something in his lungs are contracting. “I _believe_ we have a pretty Swedish ass to kick in COD?” He says, steering the mood towards something lighter (something safer, something that doesn’t weigh down on his entire being like a dead lift too heavy for him) and ignores the feeling of his heart plummeting into his feet, and instead focuses all the energy he’s not devoting to holding himself together at gesturing to the door way.

Auston’s eyes go to the living room. “I should actually—my dad is expecting me home,” apologizes Auston with a grimace. “And Willy probably is going straight back to sleep. Later though? Text me when you guys get on.”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Cool,” Auston smiles, and then stands up. “Well, I’m just gonna—“ he motions to the door. He smiles and waves good-bye to Mitch, and then he’s gone, and Mitch is alone.

He feels his shoulders slump, and leans forward to rest his elbows on the counter. He knows he did the right thing. He’s confident in that much. Of course, he’s not too sure in much else right now, but he _knows_ he did the right thing. He has to have.

**;

His first game at the Air Canada Centre is a dream, and he has to remind himself several times that it’s _not_ actually a dream. It’s _real_ , he’s _here_ , he’s playing for the _Toronto Maple Leafs_.

It goes quick—he gets his first goal (holy _shit_ ) and they win (holy _fuck_ ) and then he’s sitting in the locker room with his teammates yelling and screaming around him, and he’s just so _happy_.

His phone starts going off non-stop once he turns it back on when he walks to the parking garage, and Auston makes a joke about still having time for the little people now that he’s a big shot (which first off, Auston is _not_ little and secondly, you scored _four goals_ Auston, shut up). Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves him away with his shoulder. He’s glancing through all of the texts, makes it all the way to the bottom of his inbox and stops at a name.

 _Mitchell! Congratu-fucking-lations!_ lingers on his screen after he’s read through all of the others. It was the second text he received, right after his brother’s, and he can’t bring himself to open it just yet. He doesn’t know if it’s because Auston is next to him, or he’s just surprised by the name, but he locks his phone and puts it away no matter the reason. He drives Auston home, says goodnight, and drives himself home. He’s home before he realizes, and he doesn’t remember half of the drive.

Mitch opens up his inbox when he gets in bed. He thinks back to the text from early, steels himself, and scrolls all the way down. He taps his thumb on it, and starts typing out a response.

 _thanks erin, you too, heard youre @ uot? howve you been_ he says. He climbs in and settles under his covers after he hits send.

He’s reaching for his phone charger when the device goes off in his hand. _Everything is great!_ her first message comes through. He can see from the bottom of the screen that she’s typing something else, and he waits. _Yeah I’m at U of T. If you’ve ever got some free time let me know, we can meet up!_

He runs his fingers through his hair a few times, and frowns at his phone. Before he can regret or back out of it, he taps out, _free tomorrow for lunch after practice? we leave mon. for our roadie?_

Erin replies with an easy _yeah!_ and three smiling emojis. Mitch sends one back. His breath hitches in his throat as he locks his phone and sets it on his night table, but he doesn’t think on it.

**;

He’s never had a serious relationship before, but that’s what his relationship with Erin feels like from the beginning.

Their lunch ended up lasting five hours because they didn’t notice the time passing, and when they realized how long they had sat at the restaurant, Mitch had invited her back to his place. She followed him in her run down Toyota, and skipped up to his doorstep, laughing the whole time.

“Am I wrong in feeling like this was a date?” he had asked when she was getting ready to leave, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.

Erin looked surprised for a moment, and then grinned. “Not at all. Gonna give me a good night kiss then, eh?”

Mitch laughed, but he did. They only stopped texting for sleep, other commitments, and their own phone calls.

He’s on the phone and talking with her Tuesday night, while Zach messes around on his laptop, slowly beginning to hint to Mitch to, well, go the fuck to sleep. The later it gets, the more obvious Hyman gets with his hints. After yawning pointedly, slamming his laptop shut, settling under his blankets, shutting the television and his light off, he huffs and turns his digital clock to face Mitch. He clears his throat, and Mitch genuinely balks at the time. He apologizes to Erin and hangs up, and then apologizes to his roommate.

“’s fine,” Hyman mumbles. “Who the fuck were you talking to?”

Mitch plugs his phone in and sets it on the table. “Uh, Erin.” His phone goes off with a text and he looks at it. Erin’s text is just the time in Toronto followed by several blushing emojis. He grins, and texts back the monkey covering its face emoji, and then a quick _night!_

Hyman watches him with furrowed eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”

“I guess so,” Mitch shrugs.

“You _guess_?”

Mitch nods. “We’ve known each other for years but we just went out on Sunday. We’re… dating?”

Zach hums. “Who is she?”

“I met her in London, she was one of my best friends there. I had a thing for her there, but never _actually_ thought I’d end up in Toronto, so I just let it go. She was gone for my last year with the Knights, though.”

“Gonna bring her around?” Zach asks.

Mitch shrugs. “Maybe. We—I’ll figure it out. You’re the only one who knows.”

“Ah,” Zach answers, yawning. He glances at the clock again with heavy lidded eyes. “Okay, sorry, but it’s time to fuckin’ sleep, please.”

Mitch laughs, but curls up under the covers and shuts his light off. “Night, Hyms,” he says into the darkness. Zach mumbles in reply, already half-asleep.

**;

They have Sunday off after they get back from Chicago, and he picks Auston up on Monday, like usual. He knows that, well, if he needs to tell anyone about Erin, it’s definitely Auston. He’s trying to slow his heart rate down as Auston walks down the sidewalk to Mitch’s car, waving as he approaches. Mitch inhales, and then counts to eight as he exhales. Auston opens the door.

“Hey,” Mitch nods as Auston climbs into the car.

“’Sup?” questions Auston, not bothering to look at Mitch as he pulls the door shut. He starts on his seat belt.

“I uh—need to tell you something.”

Auston pauses, with the belt half way across his chest. He turns to Mitch with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mitch nods, steeling himself for his next sentence. “I started seeing someone.”

The seatbelt slips a few inches back towards the door in Auston’s fingers. “Oh,” he says faintly, and then flexes his fingers, grips the fabric of the belt tighter, and buckles it quickly. “That’s great, Mitch.”

“Auston—“ Mitch didn’t just _imagine_ Auston saying that he had a thing for Mitch, did he? Because, well, Mitch still isn’t quite over his thing for Auston, so Auston can’t be either, right? Auston hadn’t seemed object to having a repeat performance, and they might have if Mitch hadn’t said what he had.

( _Not_ to say that Mitch didn’t want a repeat performance. Just. Priorities.)

He shakes his head. “No, Mitch, I don’t—I don’t need whatever you were about to say.”

“But—“

“We agreed,” Auston calmly reminds him, “to not do anything. We can—we can see people. We said we were into each other and fucked once,” he says casually, and Mitch doesn’t know how Auston can say that so casually without even a hitch in his breathing. “We’re not going to live, like, celibate lives just because of that, you know?”

“Sure,” Mitch nods. His chest feels tight, like a rubber band being pulled further and further apart, and he’s trying to breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth to keep the band from snapping in his lungs. Or—maybe it’s like a rubber band being wrapped too many times around his lungs. It might be a pressure, making it too hard to breathe, though he struggles to make it normal in front of Auston. It’s good—it’s a _good_ reaction, and it’s the reaction he had hoped for. He still feels disappointed, somehow.

Auston smiles. “Tell me about her,” he says, and sounds genuinely interested.

Mitch reminds himself this is what he wanted, what he chose. He tells Auston about her and tries to ignore the fact that the rubber band winds even tighter around his lungs with every word.

**;

Mitch loses the next months in struggling to adjust to his new life as an NHL player. He texts Connor every week, asking advice about sleep schedules, roommates, keeping in touch with old friends. He cheers his friend on from afar, and gets a giddy feeling in his chest when Connor texts him about a goal Mitch scored—so Mitch knows Connor is doing the same.

Before he knows it, they’ve won the Centennial Classic in front of 40,000 people. The noise definitely gives it away, but as they flood the ice to get to Auston, Mitch thinks that it’s just him, his guys, and the ice right now. He meets up with Freddie as the goalie skates over, and they bump helmets and gloves as they wait to get to Auston.

When he sees Auston—the smile wide and bright on his face—Mitch feels his heart speed up. It might be cliché—but his pulse _literally_ rises. He pushes it away and stops in front of Auston, hugging him with one arm and bumping their helmets like he did with Freddie. Auston looks at him still smiling, and Mitch can’t feel the cold on his skin anymore, he just feels warm.

**;

His parents and Erin are waiting for him after his presser with Auston. His parents both wrap him in hugs, and Erin does the same, adding on a kiss when she pulls away. Mitch moves off to the side so Auston can say hi. Auston greets Mitch’s mom with a hug, his dad with a handshake, and looks at Erin. She takes the decision out of his hands and wraps him in a hug, and he laughs quietly. He hugs her back, and Mitch—feels weird.

His dad is talking to him, going over the game already, but Mitch is fixated on his girlfriend and his—Auston. They’re talking in fast, excited voices as she congratulates him on his goals, and then teases him that his face is still red from the cold. Mitch watches Auston who is smiling gently at Erin, and leaves his dad’s side as soon as he’s finished talking. Erin looks up at him and smiles, and when he looks at Auston, the man’s smile is brighter than it had been mere seconds ago.

“Are you coming to dinner with us, Auston?” Erin asks.

Auston looks away from Mitch to Erin and shakes his head. “No, my parents and one of my sisters are here somewhere, I’ve gotta go find them.”

Erin nods. “Well, have fun, and nice goals.”

Auston thanks her, and then reaches out to ruffle Mitch’s hair in a non-asshole asshole move. He smirks when Mitch protests and then face washes him. “See you, Marns.”

Mitch says goodbye (grumpily, as he reaches up to straighten his messed up hair) and watches Auston leave. While he’s staring at Auston’s back, Erin wraps her arm around his waist. “You ready?”

Giving himself a few more seconds to watch Auston, he nods. Then, he turns to his girlfriend and musters up a smile. She answers with one of her own.

**;

They’re in Detroit the day before a game, out and relaxing with each other at dinner when the focus turns to Auston.

“Help us out here, buddy,” Marty encourages. “We don’t know what girl you want if you don’t tell us.”

Auston rolls his eyes. “I don’t want any girls, asshole.”

“Oh,” Willy says softly before any of the other guys can protest, “is this like a gay thing? Because that’s totally fine, too. Just tell us about your guys.”

Auston stares. “No—I…” Auston looks at his plate, “okay, kind of, but I just _don’t want to hook up_.”

Mitch freezes, and whips his head up to look at Auston, who is working hard to avoid eye contact with everyone at the table. There’s surprise on a lot of the guys’ faces, and Mo and Gards and having an intense conversation with nothing but their eyebrows. Willy, of course, doesn’t miss a beat. “Sweet,” he says nonchalantly, “but we can find you a date, can’t we?”

“Yeah,” Marty jumps in quick, “find you a nice boy to take home to your parents, right?”

Auston laughs and tells them both to fuck off, and Mo turns to him, thanking him for trusting them. Mitch—Mitch can’t handle anything that’s going on. His eyes haven’t left Auston’s face, but Auston hasn’t looked at him yet, and that hurts kind of. He can’t figure out why.

He doesn’t really feel like team bonding anymore. He drags his gaze away from Auston and reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, and throws down enough money to cover his part and a generous tip. “Sorry guys, I’m getting really tired. I’m gonna head out,” he tells them, and looks back to Auston. “And Matts, congrats.” He feels like his voice falls flat of what he had been hoping: he was proud of Auston and happy for him. He just doesn’t know how much of that pride and happiness came through. He flashes Auston a smile to try and make up for the warmth missing from his voice.

Auston looks up at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “Thanks, Marns.”

**;

“Alright,” Willy says, barging in to the room, “what’s up with you and the gay thing?”

Mitch sits up in his bed and frowns. “What? How did you get in here?”

“Don’t lie to me, Mitchell,” he says seriously, though Mitch kind of wants to laugh at the way he says ‘Mitchell.’ He holds up what must be Zach’s room key and tosses it on the other bed. “You stared at Auston for like, forever after he said he was gay, and left as soon as you could without it looking weird. Are we going to have a problem?”

“What? No!”

“Don’t _lie_ ,” Willy says, fiercer this time. “Matts is your best friend, if you’re some fuckin’ homophobic piece of shit—“

“Hey!” Mitch huffs, “I knew about this before you did!”

The anger in Willy’s face clears, and is left with confusion. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Willy sighs. “ _Don’t l—_ “

“I’m not _lying_ ,” Mitch cuts in. “I’m—I just… didn’t know he was going to, I guess? And… I didn’t know the specifics.”

“What do you mean the specifics,” questioned Willy, his voice monotone and not sounding like a question at all, “it’s pretty straightforward if you ask me. Or—not _straight_ forward.” He freezes and looks at the ceiling. “Hey. Does this make Auston a gay forward? And me a straight forward? Do you think we can convince Hymie to be a bi forward? Complete the cycle?”

“I don’t think you can _convince_ him,” Mitch sputters, trying to figure out if he should laugh or not.

“That’s true,” Willy concedes. He blinks, and refocuses on Mitch. “So what’s your problem?”

Mitch rolls his eyes, and kind of hates Willy for not even being able to deter and distract himself. He draws in a breath and picks at the skin next to his thumbnail. “I—I didn’t know it was a _gay_ thing. I thought it was more of a bi thing?”

Willy’s face goes hard again. “What, so it’s only okay if he’s only gay _sometimes_?” the Swede bites out. “It’s only okay if he just messes around with some guys as long as he settles down with a nice girl at the end of it all and—“

“No!” Mitch yells out quickly, and then pauses. “Maybe? Not—not exactly that but. I don’t know.” He sees Willy draw in a deep breath, most likely getting ready to chew him out, thinks that this kid is ready to fight Mitch for even showing slight discomfort about Auston coming out—he’s definitely on Auston’s side, definitely would be on Mitch’s side, he doesn’t have to be _scared_ here—and blurts out, “I’m bi.” A short pause. “I think.”

Willy deflates again, and finally, _finally_ walks over to sit on the bed. “Thanks for telling me,” he says sincerely, and Mitch feels instantly comforted. He looks at the wall, pauses for a long moment, and then straightens up as he looks back to Mitch again. “Do you want to be our bi forward?”

“Oh my god.”

Willy grins. Mitch smiles back at him, small and shy, but genuine and comforted. Willy is a good guy, and maybe—maybe something will give if Mitch can _talk_ about this and figure it out. Maybe the rubber band will break and he’ll be able to _breathe_ again.

“I—I have—Matts is… special,” Mitch stammers out, going for broke. He stares at Willy, watching to see if he gets what Mitch means. Willy’s face doesn’t change, so Mitch tacks on a “to me.”

Understanding blossoms across the Swede’s face, and Mitch wills himself not to run and hide. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Okay,” Willy says, scowling at the ground as he tries to process the situation, “so why do you have a problem that it’s a gay thing?”

“He—we’re supposed to be safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have, you know—I have Erin now. He’s supposed to get a girl, so everyone thinks we’re perfectly straight and neither of us fuck up our lives.”

Willy stares at Mitch, narrows his eyes and purses his lips as he processes, and then falls back on the bed and groans. “Fuck, this is so out of my wheelhouse.” Mitch stares, tries not to ask what the fuck a wheelhouse is, and stays quiet. Willy shoots back up into a sitting position, “What do you mean you have Erin _now_? What about, like, before you were with her?”

Mitch shifts on the bed, trying to hide his discomfort. This is good, this is helpful, this is—therapeutic? (Fuck, why the hell does he need therapy from William fucking Nylander.) “We—Auston and I—kind of almost had a thing, but we both decided against it.”

“Why?”

Mitch furrows his eyebrows. “It’s an awful idea.”

“How?” Willy pries. “You’re best friends, on the same team—“

“ _Because_ we’re best friends, on the same team, and in the NHL,” Mitch bites out, standing up and getting away from his friend. “You Can Play is shit. No one has come out because our culture incorporates homophobic language and behavior into it, from the very start. We’re taught ‘cocksucker’ and ‘faggot’ are the same as ‘asshole’ and ‘dumbass’ or whatever other name you want to use. We’ve grown up having it _shoved_ in our heads that cocksuckers and faggots are awful people—they’re the things we want to fight, want to beat. There’s a negative connotation with those because they are slurs, yes, but because in this sport, it’s like—it’s like being gay is the worst thing someone could be, you know? And we’ve been raised like that; from the time we started playing organized hockey and had locker rooms. And the NHL and You Can Play think a few commercials are going to change an entire league and fan bases’ view on it over night? It’s not going to happen—it won’t even happen in my career, Will,” Mitch whimpers. “I can’t—I can’t _be that_ with him—I can’t risk it, I can’t do that to him, I can’t lose hockey, I can’t _do it_.”

He feels tears welling up in his eyes, and his hands are shaking. Willy stands up slowly, as if not to startle him. Willy takes a step towards him, and Mitch takes in another gasping breath, feeling like he can’t get in enough air. His lungs are working overtime, now—even harder than they’ve been working the past few months, and Mitch doesn’t know how this can be good for his overall health.

“Mitchy,” Willy coos gently, grabbing his elbow and guiding him to one of the beds. He manhandles him into a sitting position, and then leans him back against the headboard. “Close your eyes, and breathe, okay?”

“I can’t,” Mitch protests because breathing has been an issue for months now, but closes his eyes anyways and tries to breathe. He’s definitely getting air, but it’s also definitely not enough. He feels light headed.

“Yeah, you can,” Willy reassures him, like he knows anything. He lets go of Mitch and walks around to the other side of the bed, crawls in, and the curls up against him. “It’s alright, you’re safe.”

And, okay, laying with Willy here, for now, Mitch knows he is. He draws in a breath, counting the seconds, and lets it back out. He focuses on his fingers, his toes, his nose—everything. He pulls himself back. And he whines. “Please don’t tell Auston.”

“Mitchy, I won’t,” Willy promises.

Mitch smiles softly at Willy in thanks, and then settles back into Willy’s side, thankful for—someone by his side.

**;

Mitch and Auston don’t talk about the gay thing (the gay thing being Auston’s sexual orientation, not that time they slept together, though Mitch thinks he should probably label things better in his head to avoid confusion). He gets to go back to London while Auston heads to the All-Star Game, and he drops the puck at a game. Dylan is there, and Mitch kind of wants to cry out of—relief? He’s just, relieved for the sense of normalcy that comes back to his life by being in London and around Dylan Strome. It’s almost like he hasn’t moved on to the NHL yet, he hasn’t met Auston Matthews, and his head is still on straight.

Dylan demands to see him before the game, and so Mitch takes a cab right to the hotel they’re staying at—before he even sees his old teammates.

He finds Dylan and DeBrincat’s room easy, knocks on the door, and waits for one of them to come let him in.

Debrincat happens to be out, so it only takes ten minutes for Mitch to break from the moment he walks in the door, wanting his friend’s help.

“Auston’s gay,” Mitch says, and he feels… _wrong_ saying it—not for any other reason than Auston didn’t give him permission, and this is not his secret to tell. But Dylan knows they slept together, knows Mitch is bi, and _might_ only tell Connor, and will keep his mouth shut beyond that. (He knows it’s wrong that he told Dylan just by the fact that he has to justify it to himself.)

Dylan, to his credit, doesn’t look anything more than bored and tired. His eyes look blank, and his face is neutral as he turns to Mitch. “So?”

Mitch groans. “How the fuck does this even work? He’s supposed to date girls—that’s why—why we didn’t…”

Dylan snorts. “No it’s not,” he corrects Mitch easily. “It’s because you’re a chicken shit.”

Well. Okay. That was maybe uncalled for.

Mitch isn’t arguing with him, because it might be true, but it was still uncalled for.

Dylan stares at him, waiting for him to react. Mitch doesn’t have words to come back to that though. He definitely is too scared, and before it was only a part of why they couldn’t be together—why _Mitch_ couldn’t do it—but now it seems like it’s the only thing stopping them. Dylan shifts on the bed. “Listen, I’m your best friend, and I’m not a fucking idiot. Your reasons for not being with Auston are your own, and you don’t have to justify them to anyone, even if they’re shit reasons. But as your friend, I have an obligation to do whatever makes you happy, except when I make it to the NHL, then it’s my obligation to crush you and your happiness every time we play.” Mitch waits (impatiently) for Dylan to gather his next words. Dylan has gone from looking Mitch dead in the eye to looking all around the room nervously. “Look,” he starts, sounding like he’s out of breath. “You. You’re _lucky_. You’re in the NHL, and you’re on the fucking _Maple Leafs_. On top of that, you have a guy that you love that is contractually obligated to stay with you for a while unless one or both of you _really_ fuck up your game and even then they won’t be in a rush to get rid of you. We’re not all that lucky. I—I’m stuck down here and in the fucking _desert_ once I get brought up, and Davo and I probably won’t ever play together again. And you don’t have to do anything about it, but dude, if he makes you happy—”

Mitch bites down on his bottom lip when Dylan cuts himself off. “Davo?”

Dylan sighs. “I _miss_ him.”

“You love him?”

Dylan shrugs. “What is it—absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I was already pretty fond of him.”

“Oh god,” Mitch laughs, “that was so stupid, you’re so stupid over him.”

“You wanna get traded and never play with Matthews again? Get lucky and end up in the same conference so you see him four times a year maximum? Then only have a short ass summer together, where you’re both doing different things at different times?”

Mitch feels guilty, all of the sudden, and—okay, maybe realizes that he’d rather be apart from Erin than Auston, and maybe that means something?   

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Dylan shrugs. “Like I said, you’re lucky, you don’t have to think about that shit.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the shitty hotel TV, and just reveling in each other’s presence. Mitch looks at Dylan. “Hey, question.”

Dylan hums.

“You said absence is supposed to make the heart grow fonder, so why do I still think you’re a piece of shit?”

“What the _fuck_ , Marns,” Dylan says, diving and tackling Mitch onto the pillows on the bed. Mitch laughs and wraps his arms around Dylan. He flips them over and waits until Dylan stops moving before he rolls off and curls into his friend’s side. Dylan sulks. “The NHL must be great if you can beat me in a wrestling match now, twiggy.”

“You weigh _fifteen_ pounds more than me and you’re taller!”

“Okay. Short twiggy.”

Mitch groans, but stays where he is, his head resting on Dylan’s pec as the other boy laughs. He doesn’t bother fighting back, just lets himself relax.

**;

“Dude,” Mitch whines a few weeks later, falling sideways on the couch so his hair brushes Auston’s thigh. “Being injured is so _boring_.”

“Am I not entertainment enough?” Auston pouts exaggeratedly, reaching and tangling his fingers in Mitch’s hair. They’re in Mitch’s apartment, watching the NHL Network and eating shit (pop-tarts for Mitch and boring ass baked chips for Auston because he won’t step out of his diet plan further than that unless he has reason). Mitch has already missed two games, and he’ll be missing the game against the Jets tomorrow night, too.

Mitch shifts and gets his head up on Auston’s thigh. “No, man, you’re boring as fuck.”

“I’m so sorry,” Auston says stoically, stilling his hand.

Mitch grins up at him. He reaches back and grabs Auston’s hand out of his hair and twines their fingers together, resting their hands on his chest. “Tell me a story.”

“Tell me a fuck off,” Auston spits back, no venom in his tone. “God, I didn’t know it was possible for you to get even more annoying.”

“Hey!” Mitch protests.

Auston looks down and smiles at Mitch. Mitch’s stomach flutters, and he feels his entire body curling in on itself with fondness which. That’s okay. Auston squeezes his hand. “Remind me to tell Marty his fists are only to protect you now. It’s for the good of the team. If you’re hurt again it’s going to be unbearable.”

Mitch squawks, sitting up and twisting his arm around so he doesn’t have to let go of Auston’s hand. He uses their clasped hands to tug Auston at him, and Auston falls over, boneless. Mitch presses his free hand into the side of Auston’s head, smashing Auston’s face into the couch. “Asshole,” he laughs, avoiding each swipe of Auston’s free hand.

Auston twists, tugging his hand from Mitch’s grasp, and pushes into the couch with both hands, sitting back up. He’s grinning wide, his tongue pressed against the back of his top teeth. His nose is scrunched up, and his eyes narrowed with crinkles at the sides, and Mitch purposefully looks at the TV where he can vaguely tell that there are highlights from last night’s game playing, unable to process the feelings in his chest. “Do you want a drink?” he asks, searching for an escape. “Cocoa?”

Auston’s lips twitch down at the sudden change in Mitch—Mitch knows him well enough to know that Auston knows _Mitch_ well enough—but he nods once and Mitch stands up and leaves the room. He just—needs to try to breathe, away from Auston.

It takes too much work to fully expand his lungs, so while he’s making the hot cocoa, he takes short breaths, but counts them—in, two, three, out, two, three. There’s still a weight on his chest, heavier now, like—something like when he first started bench pressing and tried too hard and let the bar press too hard against his chest, except it’s all over. It feels like his chest is too weak—the weight should have already broken his rib cage and crushed his lungs and heart (even if he’s pretty sure his heart is already at least a little smushed).

He takes his time—more than he should, honestly. He makes it the way his mom used to make it—boils water on the stove, gets down the cocoa, sugar, and vanilla his mom sent with him, and adds them all in. After stirring the first time, he goes to put the ingredients away. He sees a small tin of cinnamon sitting off to the side in the cabinet, and adds a little bit, knowing Auston likes it. He stirs it again, gets out two mugs, and pours the drink, leaving only a pinky tip’s worth of space at the top, just like how his mom filled it for him (once he was old enough and didn’t spill it everywhere).

He sets the pot back on the stove, and reaches for his own mug, lifting it to his own mouth to taste—make sure he didn’t fuck it up—and—

“Mitchy?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mitch swears, jumping and sloshing himself with a too full mug of freshly heated cocoa in the process. He cusses again and drops the mug so he can shake his burning hand off, letting the cup smash on the floor. He looks up at Auston who looks surprised. Mitch grimaces, looks back to the glass scattered over the tiled floor. “Can you go put on your shoes and bring me mine, maybe?”

Auston snaps out of it, and moves towards Mitch’s door. He comes back and offers Mitch’s shoes to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, dude, just a little spill. And glass.”

Auston looks like he wants to say something, but bites his tongue. He looks at one of the biggest pieces of the shattered Argos mug and carefully picks it up. “Isn’t this your favorite mug?”

Mitch shrugs. “I’ve got two of them. I’ll just put the other in protective custody, away from you.”

“Protective cupstody?” Auston offers, a small smile turning the edges of his lips up, crinkling the edges of his eyes. Mitch is having the same problem in here as he was out there. But more importantly—

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

Auston tosses his head back and laughs, that stupid honking one that he gets when he can’t help himself, especially when he thinks he made a good joke. Mitch can’t let him think he did.

“You—you have to clean this up. Just for that—that’s not even a joke. Or—Christ, Matthews.”

Auston just— _giggles_ some more, and then moves to grab a roll of paper towels.

Thirty minutes later, when everything is clean again, they’re changed, and they have new cups of cocoa, Auston looks at him again. “I—I was serious early though, are you okay?”

Mitch feels his heart beat faster. Auston can’t know how hard this is—he _can’t_ , it’s not right, and it’s not—

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch forces out, cutting off his line of thinking.

Auston furrows his eyebrows. “You—when you saw the game highlights you just shut down,” Auston explains, having misread that entire situation. “You’re injured right now, and you always act fucking fine about shit, but I’ve never seen you go without hockey, so I just wanna make sure you’re holding up.”

Mitch lets out a breath of relief. “Oh.” He thinks about it. “Yeah, it fucking sucks, but they don’t think I should be out too long.”

Auston nods. “Well, just… I can’t do much but—“

Mitch nods back at him in understanding. “Yeah.”

Auston smiles, small, and takes a sip of his drink. Mitch lifts his mug to hips lips, and ignores the pain in his chest, and the amount of work it’s taking him just to fucking _breathe_. That’s for another day.

**;

The next month passes quickly, barely time to stress (but enough time to panic still) in the midst of battling every second for a play off spot and spending time with Auston (hence the time to panic). Mitch had tied the rookie record for assist just a few days ago, but tonight they go out to celebrate Auston’s new record of most goals for a rookie for the Leafs after the Florida game. They only have a travel day tomorrow, so Mitch takes advantage of that. He does a shot right off the bat, and orders a drink, too.

He doesn’t even feel guilty for the noise they’re making in the bar—Auston just broke a 31-year old record. Excuse them if they were a little… excited.

Mitch flicks his eyes over at Auston next to him and finds the other man staring back. He drops his gaze to his hands, and then steels himself. He looks back, and Auston is still looking. His eyes are dull around the edges but so bright in the center, so bright when he twitches a smirk at Mitch.

“It’s you next,” Auston says, leaning in to Mitch’s space.

“What?”

“Breaking a record,” Auston says. “We’ve just gotta get you _one_ more.”

Mitch grins wide. “Just one more,” he agrees. He and Auston both grab a shot from the middle of the table, and click them together. They down them, and look at each other. Auston’s face is flushed and happy, and Mitch knows his has to be similar.

There’s a light in Auston’s eye that Mitch can’t (doesn’t want to) place. He claps a hand on Mitch’s shoulder, making Mitch jump. “We’ve got this,” he grins. “Record setting rookies—that’s us. The same year. Because we’re rookies at the same time.”

Mitch snorts, and takes another sip of his beer. Auston is beaming at him, and Mitch—he can’t stop himself from smiling back.

And they—they never said anything beyond that they were into each other, but if Mitch fell in love with Auston, maybe Auston—

Mitch choked, feeling all his breath leave him at once, like a hard open ice hit.

If Mitch _fell in love with Auston_?

That shot might have been a bad idea.

He looks at the drink in front of him, feeling his stomach churning and his lungs contracting. He glances around the table and finds Willy staring at him. This is too much, and while he can usually recover himself, he’s had too much to drink, not enough time to ready himself and—he—he needs to get away.

He gasps and all the air flies from his lungs, excuses himself, and hurries to the bathroom. Behind him he can hear a few chairs scratch against the floor, and Willy’s voice. “Nah, guys, hold on, he might just be sick and we all know I can handle that better than you.”

Mitch makes it to the bathroom and moves immediately to the sinks. He doesn’t look in the mirror, can’t stand to see what he looks like right now as he gasps for air.

“Marns?” Willy calls into the bathroom, and Mitch looks up from the sink, makes eye contacts with Willy through the mirror. Mitch barely registers the pale pink color of his face and his wet eyes. Willy’s face is solemn—he must have guessed what’s going through Mitch’s head. Mitch breathes out and it’s shaky, like he’s going to start crying, and Willy takes a few hesitant steps towards him. “You good?”

“Yeah, great,” Mitch breathes, laughing a short, none-of-this-is-actually-funny-but-I-don’t-know-how-else-to-react laugh.

Willy raises his eyebrows and purses his lips. “So, anxiety attacks in a bar bathroom—normal for you?”

“Totally,” Mitch says, gripping the sink tighter in his hands, so his knuckles nearly match the white porcelain he’s gripping.

“This can’t be good, Marns, what if I wasn’t the one who came after you, or, couldn’t stop someone else?”

“Anxiety,” Mitch writes off, which is both an answer to Willy’s question and a plea. A plea to not push his mind where it doesn’t need to go—to not make him think of Auston walking in here, or even Mo, or Freddie, or Brownie, or… “drunk.”

“Sure,” Willy says.

“I just—need a few minutes away from… that,” Mitch begs.

“What happened?”

Mitch shakes his head and bites down on his bottom lip.

“You can say it—“

“ _No I can’t_ ,” Mitch all but yells. “I can’t do anything about it, I’m already a shitty enough person for even thinking it—for even _feeling_ it when Erin is around, when I have Erin.”

“You’re not acting on it,” Willy points out, “you’re allowed to feel whatever you feel.”

“ _No_ ,” Mitch says. “No, I—I _can’t_ , Willy.”

“Why, Mitch?”

“I can’t—it’s not right. Cheating isn’t just _physical_ , and when I’m not even _in love_ with her but Au—“

He stops short, the breath punched out of him for the second time that night. He chokes out a sob and flinches when he feels Willy put a hand on his back. He turns away and shields his face from his friend when he feels his eyes threaten to overflow with tears. “I know you might not want to hear this, but you don’t _have_ to stay with Erin.”

Mitch nods, closes his eyes, and laughs. “You’re right,” he admits. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Mitchy…”

“I love her,” Mitch says truthfully. It sounds off, even though Mitch knows with all his heart he _does_ love Erin.

“You’re not in love with her, though?”

He hesitantly shakes his head. He hears Willy exhale, and then it’s quiet for a good minute.

“What—“ Willy cuts himself off. “What’s the difference? How can you tell?”

“I—“ Mitch stops, and thinks. He thinks about Erin. Her smile, her laugh, and her voice. He thinks about how warm he feels when he’s with her, but how it fades when he leaves her. Thinks about how it would hurt to lose her, for her to find someone else, but he could move on and find another someone, be just as happy with another someone as he is with her. About how he wants her in his life, but he doesn’t need her, not really. And then—

He thinks about how comfortable Auston makes him feel (when Mitch isn’t panicking about the fact that Auston makes him comfortable), how settled he always is just by being in the other man’s presence, or even just thinking about him. He thinks about the smiles they share—just for each other. He thinks about talking about their contracts together—talking about their _future_ together on this team, in general. About the sharp pain Dylan put in his chest when he made Mitch think about a future in the NHL without Auston by his side. About the panic in his chest when he imagine not having Auston _at all_. And—okay, he could live without him, too, there’s no one that it would actually kill him if you took them away, but would he ever be okay with it, fully? He knows without even a second’s thought that the answer is no. He could never find someone who he gets and who gets him so entirely like Auston. He thinks about how he knows Auston, _really_ knows him, and Auston knows him back. Thinks about how if you took Auston away, he’d be lesser, not just in his mental and emotional state but also as a person. He thinks about the bad things, too. How he’s codependent and needy and selfish when it comes to Auston—he wants to be _Auston’s_ and wants Auston to be _his_ (not even romantically necessarily (ok maybe)—just… he wants to be Auston’s person, he wants to be the one that Auston goes to, and cares about and trusts more than anyone else). His love for Auston is all encompassing, fitting in to every part of his life and being, and helping make him into who he is.

And, okay, maybe he could go on fine without Auston if Auston up and left—maybe it’s all fucked up in his head, maybe he’s being dramatic. But it doesn’t feel like it. Something has felt _off_ since he told Auston about Erin—maybe even since he told Auston that they shouldn’t sleep together again—, and he’s starting to realize that he might be an idiot.

He hadn’t noticed falling in love with Auston because it wasn’t a… big thing, despite how Mitch thinks falling in love should go. It just happened, naturally. He has always had feelings, right from the start. The feelings became a part of him, learned to settle in him like dirt at the bottom of a lake. (He pointedly doesn’t think about Auston’s muddy eyes and his own blue ones, he’s not trying to be cute—he’s just trying to figure this shit out.) Then Auston would run in the water, kick up the dirt, and the dirt would take a while to settle back at the bottom. It was always, always there, though, but it was something so central to Mitch’s being that he didn’t even realize. He realizes now that he’s always been a little bit in love with Auston Matthews. Loving—being in love with—Auston Matthews was as much a part of Mitch Marner as his general happiness and kindness was, while his love for Erin was learned, calculated, and not… _inherent_ to Mitch. And… there it is.

There’s the difference between Erin and Auston, and yet, he wasn’t sure _why_ it was Auston and not Erin. He—he doesn’t think he’ll ever know for sure why on that one.

He looks up at Willy, and he feels the cool air against the tear tracks on his face of tears he didn’t realize he’d let out. “Our eyes.”

Willy blinks. “What?”

Mitch might still be a little drunk (a lot drunk, and emotional), so instead of trying to explain his lake analogy, he frowns at Willy. “It’s… complicated?”

Willy accepts his answer with a shrug. He moves and pulls out some paper towels from the dispenser, and dabs at Mitch’s cheeks. “Let’s head home?” he suggests.

Mitch nods. They separate on their way out the door, so Willy can pick up their coats and tell the guys, and Mitch heads towards the door. He stops behind a divider wall and listens.

“Mitchy and I are gonna head home,” Willy announces, loud enough that Mitch can hear him from his distance away.

“Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Willy nods. “He feels kinda sick, just wanna get him home, and I’m really tired,” he adds in before Auston can offer to take Mitch home or Kappy can offer to go with them.

“Oh,” Auston says softly, and Mitch can practically hear him deflate.

“Where is he?” Kappy jumps in.

“I don’t know, probably outside,” Willy says. “I told him I’d meet him outside so he could get some fresh air.”

“Do you want me to wait with you guys?”

“No,” Willy sighs, and Mitch can hear frustration creeping into his voice. “You just broke a fucking record tonight and we don’t have practice tomorrow, celebrate a bit.”

“But—“

“Dude,” Zach cuts in from his seat across from Auston, “you’ll see Marns tomorrow; he’s good to travel, right Will?”

“Yeah, fine,” Willy affirms. “Just I think tired and maybe had a little too much to drink, too fast,” he covers. “Stay, dude. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Night,” Auston says, conceding.

Willy walks out and Mitch meets him by the door. They walk out together, and stand just outside the restaurant, waiting for the car that Mitch called for. Mitch stares at the ground and tries to ignore Willy staring at him.

“He loves you, too, you know,” Willy says. “If that wasn’t obvious.”

“Please, just—just don’t,” Mitch pleads.

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I—don’t know if he feels the same. I know he felt something, and… I fucked up, Willy,” Mitch whimpers.

Grabbing Mitch’s elbow, Willy leads Mitch away from the door where any overly concerned teammates could look out and see them. He stops them a few feet from where they were. He wraps an arm around Mitch’s waist, and Mitch’s head falls onto Willy’s shoulder. “You didn’t fuck up,” Willy said seriously. “You were confused, and you just need to straighten some things out now.”

Mitch snorts, waits, and then lifts his head. “Seriously, no straight to gay joke?”

Willy furrows his eyebrows, thinks back on his words, and his mouth falls open. “ _Fuck_ ,” he cusses. “I can’t believe I missed that one.”

Mitch grins, Willy answers with a grin, and… everything is all right for a minute, again. So, Mitch is thankful for Willy, but these moments are always only moments, and he knows that it’s not going to last.

**;

“Kappy is _suspicious as fuck_ , by the way,” Willy says the next night when Mitch has settled in his room in Nashville. He barges into Mitch’s hotel room and throws his suitcase at the base of Zach’s bed. Mitch’s eyebrows go up. Willy mimics the movement. “What, you think I’m letting you room with someone who doesn’t know what’s going on? Zach and I switched, and Kappy is mad now, since he’s finally up and I left him, and I won’t tell him why.”

Mitch kind of wants to cry. He’s in such a fragile state these days he honestly _might_. “You—seriously?”

“Yes,” Willy says. He sounds like there wasn’t any other option—like letting Mitch sleep alone or figure out his own fucking life wasn’t a choice.

Mitch definitely wants to cry.

They settle in—Willy curling up on Mitch’s bed with him and letting Mitch stress cry. It’s probably a good thing that Willy and Zach switched—Mitch definitely would have cried either way. Now, he has someone to cuddle and avoids questions from Zach. He doesn’t deserve Willy.

“Hey Willy?” Mitch mumbles over the silence once his tears have calmed down.

“Hm?”

“Thank you,” he says.

Willy turns and frowns at him. “For what?”

“For just—you found out because you thought I was being a homophobic asshole, and you’ve just… kept me from falling apart,” Mitch admits shamelessly, because he _can_ be shameless in front of Willy. He feels safe here, even if it’s not quite the same safety as he feels around Auston. “You—it’d make more sense for you to be better friends with Sosh or Matts or Hymie, and—you just got stuck with me because I had a moment of weakness around you. And I just—you’re a good friend,” Mitch tells him honestly.

Willy smiles. “I’m just counting on the fact that I’m gonna get to be best man,” he teases. He reaches over and combs his fingers through Mitch’s hair. “You’re a good person, Marns. I’m your friend for that reason, not because of any weak moments. I’m doing what anyone else would do if they knew what you were going through. Just—being a friend.”

“Still,” Mitch argues, because Willy has been the only person he’s been able to breathe around for the last few months, “thanks for sticking up for Auston in the first place. It feels better knowing that whatever he and I face, you’re gonna be on our side.”

Willy grins. “Whatever _you and him_ face? ‘ _Our_ side’?”

“Shut up.”

“So confident, Mitchy,” Willy teases.

“Says the asshole who has been telling me for the past twenty-four hours that Matts is _definitely_ in love with me.”

Willy shrugs. “I know he is, I just don’t get it. Do you know how _pointy_ you are to cuddle with? Cuddling is an important part of relationships.”

Mitch pushes himself up on to one of his elbows and shoves Willy away from him, both of them laughing, carefree and relaxed. “Asshole,” Mitch calls him, fond.

“I think that whole ‘thank you’ speech took away any credibility to you asshole calling.”

“ _Asshole_ ,” Mitch reiterates, shoving at Willy again, and then falling back flat on the bed. Willy giggles (Mitch marvels at how he exists that he’s _giggling_ ) and crawls back over to Mitch. He forces an arm under Mitch’s head and pulls him in to his chest, and Mitch lets his head rest there. Then, because he can, he digs a pointy elbow into Willy’s side. Willy lets out a shriek.

**;

Erin is waiting for him when he gets home from the Capitals game. She smiles up at him, and reaches for him from the couch. He drops his bag and grabs her hand, letting her pull him to sit next to her. She’s watching the NHL Network. They’re playing the highlights from the Leafs game, and by the time he sits on the couch, they’ve reached his powerplay goal.

He remembers the feeling as he watches his face. The mix of happiness that he scored, but sadness that it wasn’t enough to win the game. He thinks that’s how he feels right now, and thinks Auston wrapping his arm around him in the locker room felt like the game winning goal, instead of just another to add to his tally.

“Erin,” Mitch says, still staring straight at the TV. He tangles his hands in his lap and she looks to them instead of at his face. She puts her hand on both of his and only then glances at his face. He sees her eyes searching out of the corner of his, and he breathes in deep, but it gets caught in a choked of sob.

Immediately she jumps into action, turning and pulling her legs up under her so she can stand on her knees and take his face in both of her hands. She turns his head so he’s looking at her now, and he can feel the moisture in his eyes, and wills it to stay there, and not track down his cheeks. And well, he couldn’t will himself out of love, why would he be able to make his eyes do anything? He can feel himself breathing harder—feel himself panicking.

“Mitch,” Erin coos, wiping at his tears with her thumbs. “Mitch, babe, what’s wrong?”

“I’m—I’m in love with him,” Mitch admits out loud, for the first time ever. He might have been expecting a weight to lift off his chest, but instead he feels pinned down under Erin’s gaze.

She stares at him for a long moment, and it feels very anticlimactic when she looks away, smiles gently, and says, “I know.”

Mitch blinks at her, not quite understanding what she’s saying—or, trying to say.

“I know it’s Auston,” whispers Erin, her voice wet with her unshed tears now, “I’ve known for a while.”

Mitch feels his heart crumbling quicker as he watches tears gather in her eyes. “Erin—“

“Don’t,” she laughs, shaking her head. She presses her nose to his forehead and breathes. “I was never… _sure_ without you telling me,” she admits, “but I always thought.”

Mitch reaches his hands up to grab on to her wrists, keeping her hands on his face as she pulls back to look into his eyes. He stares at her, and feels his lower lip trembling as her tears begin to fall. “I— _Erin_ ,” he tries again, but his voice cracks on her name, and he lets out another sob.

“Shh,” she shushes him, pulling one hand from his grip and moving it to run through his hair. “Mitch, you’re okay.”

“No,” Mitch says, “I’m really not.”

“Yes,” she says. Her voice is firm. Mitch almost believes her.

“You’re the one that… I wish it was you. I want… to want _you_.”

“But you don’t.”

More tears fall, and Mitch breathes out a shaky breath. “But I don’t.”

“And that’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” he whines. “God, Erin, I—I _love_ you, so damn much. It was wrong of me to do this to you.”

Erin sits back on her knees, finally, and pulls her hands away. It’s her turn to twist her hands in her lap, but she keeps looking at him. “Mitchell, listen,” she says softly, but her tone strong. Her eyes are still leaking tears, and Mitch wants to wipe them away, but isn’t sure what is okay and what isn’t anymore. He thinks she’d let him, but he’s—he’s so _scared_. “Mitch, I love you, too, and… it’s okay that we don’t love each other the same way, because we both care for each other, okay? We both just want each other to be happy, yeah? And it’s _okay_ that I’m not the one who will make you happy.”

“You do,” he tells her.

“Not like Auston does.”

He admits “no” and now—that weight he had been expecting to lift off his shoulders earlier, it does. He feels lighter, some how. He’s both happier and horrified at the same time. How can he feel like a weight is lifted off his chest breaking up with Erin? He’s an awful person. “I’m an awful person.”

Erin laughs, and then sniffles. She wipes at her eyes and shakes her head. “No, Mitchell,” she says firmly. “I mean—it’s on me, too. If I had my doubts, I should have talked to you.”

“This is _not on you_ ,” scowls Mitch. “This is all—“

“Stop, okay. I—maybe it’s not like… Mitch, if I had asked, I would have saved you a lot of pain,” she explains, reaching out to place her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “You’d never hurt me on purpose, and I… I _know_ you, Mitch.”

“It feels like I did,” he says. He looks down at his lap again.

“You didn’t,” she says. “And I could have saved _myself_ a lot of time and hurt if I had asked, too.”

“This was never on you,” he huffs. “I’m _sorry_.”

“I’m not,” she responds, and he snaps his head up to look at her. She laughs at his reaction. “Mitch, you’re still one of my best friends. You found someone who makes you so happy, and I can’t be sorry about that.”

“How did you know?” he wonders, changing the subject. He knows Erin—they’re not going to come to an agreement on how sorry he should or shouldn’t be.

“You would talk to me for hours when you were with Zach,” she explains, “and then you’d switch roommates for a night and if we made it twenty minutes on the phone it’d be a record. And I got that you were better friends with Auston than Zach, but… you’re so distracted around him, I guess. Like he matters more than me or—anything.”

Mitch feels his chin trembling. He never meant to make her feel like she didn’t matter, or mattered less, or— “I’m sor—“

“ _Don’t be_ ,” she urges. “It was—more than just that. You’re happiest when you’re with him; I have always been able to see that. Your stories include him more than anyone else, and you took to him faster than Dylan, even. I used to think Dylan was the reason that we didn’t date in London.” Mitch snorts at that, and shakes his head. “I know,” Erin grins, “I know that now. But it’s like you need him. You just want me here. And holy shit, the sexual tension sometimes.”

Mitch laughs. He wipes his eyes and sniffles. “You know nothing ever—I wouldn’t have done that to you. When we switched—“

Erin snorts. “Babe, you’re one of the nicest, most genuine people I have ever met. You couldn’t have cheated on me if you wanted to.”

“Why does it feel like I did?” he whimpers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—“

“ _Mitchell_ ,” Erin huffs, climbing on to his lap and bracketing his legs in with her knees. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You fell in love, and that’s—that’s beautiful, not wrong,” she insists. “And—I think there’s a good chance Auston could feel the same way, Mitch. You two could be great together.”

Mitch drops his head forward so it’s resting on Erin’s shoulder. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in for a hug and whimpers. “He does.”

“He does what?”

“Feel the same,” he mumbles into her shoulder. “Or, he did. I—we slept together, before you and I started talking again. He told me he had feelings.”

“Oh,” Erin breathes out. She pauses, and Mitch feels her shifting in his lap, shifting in his arms, and—

He pulls away and looks at her. “That doesn’t change anything, I still wouldn’t cheat—“

Erin laughs softly and reaches up to pet his hair. “That’s not what I was thinking, Mitch. It—a lot of things make sense.” She cards her fingers through his hair, and he breathes out. “He never liked me.”

“Yes he did,” Mitch says, protesting. He’s seen Auston around people he didn’t like. Erin was not one of those people.

“No,” Erin says, “he—he tolerated me. He’s a superstar, right? And like, he shines so bright around you, in every video, every picture, every thing I see of you two. And when I was there, he just… lost some luminescence.”

Mitch blinks at her. The corners of his lips twitch up. “I’m telling Matts you called him luminescent. He’ll like you then.”

Erin laughs, a small, happy giggle, and Mitch feels like maybe this will be okay. He feels like—there’s a lot of weight still pressing onto his chest, making him work to breathe, but he can sit straight now, can hold his head up again.

**;

“I broke up with her,” Mitch tells Willy the next afternoon at practice as the other man is taking a drink from his water bottle.

Willy, to his credit, doesn’t even pause. He finishes his drink, and then looks at Mitch. “Yeah?”

Mitch nods. “Yeah.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Mitch whines childishly, leaning his head against Willy’s shoulder. “ _Help_.”

“Help with what?” Naz asks, skating to a stop behind them and grabbing his own drink.

Mitch straightens up and frowns. “Nothing.”

Willy looks at him from the corner of his eye. He looks to Naz. “Mitchy here broke up with his girlfriend.”

Mitch squawks, turning and shoving at Willy. “What the fuck?”

“Seriously?” Naz asks with eyebrows high on his forehead. “Weren’t you like—in love with her?”

Mitch freezes. “No,” he says, turning his eyes to the ice. “And that’s why we broke up.”

Naz takes a drink, narrows his eyes, and nods. He skates off then, giving Mitch the chance to shove Willy again, despite the pressure on his lungs. “ _What the fuck?_ ”

“I helped,” Willy says matter-of-factly.

“How the _fuck_ was that helping?”

Willy shifts his weight so he’s leaning against the partition. “Naz is going to tell everyone you’re broken up because he can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. Everyone includes Auston. Auston will hear and either a—try and comfort you or b—figure out what it means. Either way, you and Auston are both on fresh ice.”

“Except the fact that I know I’m in love with him and he might not.”

Willy tosses his head back and laughs, exaggerated and fake. “Matts has known he was in love with you since he shattered that pane of glass.”

Mitch doesn’t know what to say, but he can already feel the pitied looks coming in from across the rink. When he sees Auston skate over to Naz and shove at him playfully, Mitch’s stomach sinks, and his lungs squeeze. He looks away, when Naz looks at Auston seriously and nods in Mitch’s direction, and doesn’t look back the rest of practice.

**;

There’s a knock on his door less than ten minutes after he gets home. Reluctantly, he makes his way to the door and pulls it open. He steps back and lets Auston in, and neither of them say a word. Auston nods in thanks and slips out of his shoes. He moves into the living room, settling on the couch and hitting play on the remote to resume the episode of _It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia_ that Mitch was watching. Mitch settles down in the chair and waits.

It takes Auston almost two episodes to say anything, and when he does, it’s so quiet that Mitch barely hears. But he catches the tail end, and looks to his friend or—whatever. He tilts his head. “What’d you say?”

Auston finally looks at him, and his face is—it’s so closed off that even Mitch can’t tell if he’s angry, confused, or hurt. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mitch shrugs. “It—just happened. It… it wasn’t important.”

And—here. _Here_ Mitch can see Auston’s face open back up, go from stoic to shattered in a few milliseconds. “It wasn’t impor—okay,” Auston sighs, blinking his eyes together slowly. “Then—I guess I’ll just… I’ll go.”

Mitch watches him stand, watches him walk across the floor in his sock-clad feet, sees his head tilt forward as if he’s ashamed or embarrassed or…

Mitch—he didn’t hurt Erin for nothing, god damnit. He didn’t do this to let Auston go again. “Erin was the one who wasn’t important,” he rushes to get out as he scrambles to his feet, making Auston freeze in the middle of the room and look back at him, “not… not whatever you’re thinking, dude.” He pauses, thinks over his words and shakes his head, ashamed. “Wait, shit, no, Erin is important, she’s great, she’s just—she isn’t…”

Auston stares at him. “Isn’t?”

“Isn’t you? I guess?” Mitch tries. “I mean I love her, man, I just… I can’t move on from you? I mean, I could love Erin for the rest of my life and I mean… I could marry her even, you know? But it’d never be how it is with you. Never how easy, how fun, how right it is to just be with you. I’m not saying I can’t live without you. I just don’t want to, Aus, god, I really don’t want to.”

Auston draws in a breath and turns so his body is fully facing Mitch. His face is closed off again, so Mitch figures he either doesn’t believe Mitch or is going to turn him down. “Mitch—“ he cuts himself off, like he hasn’t thought of his next words.

Auston’s voice sounds calculated, reserved, and he opens his mouth to talk again but Mitch can’t listen to what he’s going to say and—shit. He’s gotta go for it.

“No—I just. Everything is so much better with you, and sometimes I am just… terrified of how much I love you, but I’m more scared of who I would be if I didn’t have you to love, you know? I never knew the difference between loving someone and being in love with someone until you, and I don’t want to settle, because it’s a huge fucking difference, okay? I don’t want to love someone else because I was too scared to be in love with you, because it’s not—it’s _not the same_ , and I don’t—I can’t fucking do that, Auston.”

“Mitchy—“

“I mean—I will, if you don’t feel the same! I want you to be happy, but I want you to know I’m—I’m _here_ , I’m an option, I don’t want to go anywhere, okay? However you feel, just please don’t make me go. Please don’t leave me.”

“Mitch,” Auston whispers, sounding like he’s just run a marathon, though they haven’t moved an inch. Mitch is itching to move towards Auston, but he waits patiently. Auston lets out a shaky breath. “Why would I leave you?”

“You might,” Mitch says, because he doesn’t deserve Auston; Auston _should_ leave despite how much Mitch does not want that to happen.

“You’re the one that left,” Auston says with no venom in his voice—just a fact.

Mitch’s head falls forward. “Yeah, and I’ve—thought about it. I don’t really care if we, or at least _I_ have to lose hockey, since I don’t know how you feel on that front, but… you’re… Aus, I need you so much more than I need hockey.” He shakes his head. “Maybe that’s fucking insane—no, it definitely is, and I don’t know if it’s fucking _true_ , it just _feels_ like it, you know? Hockey has been my life since I was a fucking toddler, I shouldn’t be willing to choose someone over it just because I’m in love with them—but I just, I don’t want to deal with faking it, and lying to myself and others and whatever girl I find—and you are worth the risk, I _know_ it. I want to love you—I want to _be_ loved by you.”

Auston looks stunned. “Is that why we didn’t try in the first place?”

“You were supposed to find a girl,” Mitch whispers. “I didn’t know—it was a… I didn’t know it was only guys for you. I thought, you know, we could move on, keep it secret, and no one would ever know. We have this fuckin’ whole ‘You Can Play’ movement, but look at some of the players, Aus, listen to what they say. They may not hate us, but how many of them are going to support or even _accept_ us? And the _fans?_ I just—it was too much to think about when I was just about to start my _career_ , Auston.”

Auston nods in understanding, no anger or disappointment in his eyes, and Mitch hates himself just a little bit more. Communication is key, or something like that, right? He could have saved a lot of people a lot of pain if he had talked to Auston, probably. Maybe. Auston sighs. “Mitch, I—you already said it, pretty much, but—I love you. We’re going to be fine no matter what, and we won’t lose hockey. Yeah, we don’t play in the most accepting sport, no matter what they’re trying to make it, but we’re too good for them to kick us out, you know?”

Mitch considers this, and then nods along. He definitely sees where Auston is coming from. Auston is definitely too good. If one team or fan base were too homophobic to want him, another would pick him up with no hesitation, because a chance at a Stanley Cup is more important than sexual orientation. Mitch is on the fence with how much a team would need him though Auston doesn’t seem to think so. He hopes others think the same. “We’d still be targets.”

“We would be,” Auston agrees, resigned. “But we don’t have to come out. We can—we can maybe just tell our parents and a few friends.”

Mitch sighs. “We should at least tell the team.”

Auston grimaces. “Yeah, I guess. They’re gonna bug us forever though.”

“Yeah, Willy wanted to _so bad_ but he was handling me with kid gloves. He only got in a few weak ones.”

“Willy knows?”

“Why do you think he ditched Kappy? He was helping me with my Erin debacle.”

Auston frowns, and looks at the wall past Mitch, considering. “Oh, okay. A lot of things make sense now.”

Mitch ignores the pang in his stomach at the reminder of Erin, Auston using the same words as her, the reminder that he had to hurt someone to get this, and then pauses to let the conversation sink in. He smiles, wide and toothy. “We’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

“Why the fuck haven’t we kissed yet? Can we do that now?” Mitch demands, closing the foot long gap between himself and Auston. Auston gives an affirmative and Mitch reaches up, curling his hands around Auston’s neck, and pulling the other man in for a kiss. Auston laughs as he goes, puts his hands on Mitch’s hips, and slides them up his sides, around to his back, pulls him in close so they’re pressed flat against one another. They smile into each other’s mouths, gasping out laughs of euphoria. It’s not much of a kiss, but it’s—really, really good. Mitch breathes, in, out, subconsciously, without putting any extra work in for the first time in months.

**;

Telling Babcock isn’t _as_ terrifying as Mitch thought it would be (surprisingly, telling his parents had been infinitely more terrifying, but they had also loved Erin, like, a lot), but it’s still terrifying. He and Auston ask to see him after practice the day after their game against the Lightning, and he agrees with a smile. Mitch doesn’t _think_ he knows, but he feels like Coach _might_ know. Of course, Mitch and Auston aren’t in the habit of asking to meet him together—have _never_ asked that—no one does, really. The last time two players had talked to him together, Mo had clearly said, “to talk about our PK.” Mitch and Auston didn’t preface anything, apart from “we wanted to talk to you about something, can we stop by after practice?”

His smile had comforted Mitch, but now, sitting in his office, it is nerve-wracking. He’s calmer than expected, still.

Babs had waved them in as soon as they showed up at his door, and he’s now watching them with a raised eyebrow. A frown is etched on his face, but Mitch knows it’s not a bad thing—its’ a Bab thing. “Um,” Auston gathers up the courage to speak, thankfully, and Babs looks to him. “Mitch and I—we’re dating. We’d like to tell the team, if that’s alright?”

The frown dissipates, and is left revealing a wide grin, crinkling their coach’s eyes. “Of course,” he tells them. “You never needed my permission, but thanks for the heads up.”

Mitch smiles hesitantly. “You’re good with it, right? Two players dating?”

Babs chuckles. “Mitchy, I’m glad,” he assures him, “just leave any disagreements at home and don’t bring them to the rink.”

Mitch nods seriously. “Of course.”

“Yeah,” Auston agrees, “Mitch here already worried enough about that one,” he teases.

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you two can do your job, we’re fine. And even then, I’ve had guys come to the rink after a fight with their wife—this will be no different. Hockey isn’t the only thing we want in life, eh?”

“No, Coach,” Auston says confidently, “it’s not.”

“Good,” he says. “I’m glad, and thank you for approaching me, and letting me know. And for giving me heads up that the guys are going to know. I do have one request.”

Mitch freezes. He stares at Babs and tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Meet with PR.” He leans his elbows on his desk and looks between them. “If you’re going to come out, I want them involved, just to protect you two as best we can, so we don’t have anyone twisting the story, even if there isn’t a story.”

“Oh,” Auston says softly, “no, we just—just the team.”

“Okay, I’d still like you to meet with them, just in case.”

Mitch didn’t want to think about what he meant by “just in case” but both him and Auston nod, and smile when Babs waves them out of his office.

**;

They go in the next day before their morning skate to meet with PR. It’s something that Mitch has had to do very few times, and at those times, he was with a large group. Now, it’s just him an Auston sitting in an office with three people from their PR team. It’s nerve wracking, and he doesn’t know what to expect from them.

“Do you have any plans on if it gets out?” Jessica jumps in with barely even a greeting as they sit down.

Mitch looks at Auston and frowns. Auston shrugs. Mitch looks back at the group before them and shrugs, too. “We’re not sure. We’d like to keep it from getting out, so no.”

Ryan nods. “We understand, but sometimes things don’t always work out like that. We’d like to come up with a release just as a precaution that we’d be able to send out readily if… anything were to happen.”

“Like what?” Mitch has considered this with Auston—he doesn’t see how it could get out.

Jessica frowns. “Mitchell, this is your relationship, we’re not going to tell you what you can and cannot do. That being said—we understand that you’re not going to be affectionate in public, but that’s not the only what people have ever been outed. I had a friend who was outed in high school because someone was careless and took a picture of someone at a private party, and she was in the back kissing her girlfriend. They posted it without looking closely at it, until someone else did. She was in a room full of people she trusted, and someone made a mistake.”

“We, the office, and the team are all behind you two, but mistakes happen. We want to do everything we can to make sure they don’t, but we want to be as prepared as possible just in case they do,” Kira says softly.

Mitch looks at Auston, who is already staring at him. “Okay,” he says, not taking his eyes off of Auston, “so what do we need to… do? To get ready… just in case.”

Mitch hadn’t noticed the tense set of Auston’s jaw at first, but as Mitch speaks, it relaxes and Mitch sees Auston’s eyes lighten. He feels immensely guilty for the ringer he put Auston through that Auston thinks Mitch still might leave him at the first sign of _potential_ danger. He reaches over and grabs Auston’s hand. He twines their fingers together and squeezes, and Auston brightens like the Arizona sun.

**;

“What was the about?” Willy wonders when Mitch falls into his seat before practice.

Mitch grumbles, and starts taking off his shoes and socks. “What happens if we accidentally get outed.”

“What do you mean?” Bozie asks from his locker.

Mitch freezes. Whoops. He looks to Auston who nods, and then looks around the room at everyone staring at him.

“So—Auston—“ Mitch pauses, swallowing down a deep breath. He looks back around at everyone again, stalling. They’re all hyper-focused on him, most likely because they’re so unused to seeing him so serious and nervous. He looks at Auston, panic written clear on his face, or so he hopes, and begs for help.

Auston stands up and strides over to him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Mitch, we don’t have to.”

“No, I _want_ to,” Mitch vows, putting as much promise into his voice as he can muster. “Plus, I _kind of already did_ if you hadn’t noticed, we just… I just can’t—what words do I use, Auston?”

Auston stares down at him, eyes narrow and calculating. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Mitch nods.

“Then—can I kiss you?” Auston murmurs.

He hears someone choking on air next to him and it vaguely registers before he chokes out, “yeah—“

Auston cuts him off with a kiss. Immediately, Mitch feels the tension in his shoulders leaking out, and he reaches up to fist a hand in Auston’s shirt. Mitch likes words a lot, but he’s okay with this wordless approach to their announcement. From around them, their teammates are calling out to them, but Mitch isn’t sure what any of them are saying. Auston pulls away after a moment, and turns to face the room at large. “Any problems?” he asks the team, most of which are grinning wide.

“None at all,” Mo says, smirking.

“One,” Gards says slowly. “Didn’t you—just break up with Erin?”

Mitch face flushes red and he looks at the ground. “She knows. This has been—a thing for a while.”

“Not _actually_ a thing,” Auston says, side eyeing Mitch, who has missed the confused and betrayed looks. “We decided early in the season not to… date. We’ve retracted that decision. No one cheated on anyone.”

Mitch looks up from the ground. “Holy shit, no,” he says, realizing what his words had sounded like. “Matts said it—it was a thing early on, and I decided to date Erin, who _knows_ Auston and I are together now. She’s fine with it. Happy for us.”

Gards lets his shoulders relax. He smiles. “Then I’m fuckin’ thrilled for you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch sees a movement, and narrows his eye as Willy raises his hand. “Am I allowed to chirp you now? Because Mitchell _literally_ cried on my shoulder—“

Mitch lets out a wordless yelp and dives for his ball of stick tape, pelting it at Willy, missing only because the Swede manages to duck out of the way, laughing all the while. Auston’s shaking next to him, and Mitch appreciates Auston’s happiness, the laughter, so when he throws his used sock at Willy, he throws it less hard, and less direct.

“Wait,” Naz says holding a hand up. “I need to hear about this.”

“No, you do not,” Mitch says. He puts on a serious face, pointing around the locker room and trying to look stern. “Be happy for us. Leave my crisis out of it.”

“ _Crisis?_ ” Marty cackles. “You’re _nineteen_ , what crisis?”

“Oh,” Willy starts back up, “it was definitely a crisis.”

“Okay,” Marty grins, leaning back so he’s slouched in his locker, “let me hear it. Tell me about this crisis.”

“Oh my god,” Mitch groans, falling back into his own locker at the same time that he hears Kappy ask, “is _crisis_ starting to sound weird to anyone else?”

Auston laughs, settles next to him, and presses his face to the side of Mitch’s head. “Love you.”

“Yeah, whatever, you too.”

“First things first,” Mo steps in, silencing Willy, who looks like he’s about to go off on a tangent. “What did you discuss with PR? Anything we should know to make this easier?”

Mitch looks at Mo, and smiles appreciatively. He knows in his mind that they’re likely holding out for Auston to be captain, but _damn_ if Mo doesn’t step up. If Auston was even slightly out of place leading a team (which he’s not, he’s just not ready yet), Mitch has no doubt the C would be thrown at Mo and there would be no turning back. From beside him, he feels Auston shift. “Just—we’re not looking to come out,” Auston tells the room, “so we’d appreciate if you guys were careful, too.”

Mitch nods. “It’d be safer and easier for us and you if we can keep this under wraps.”

“What do you mean it’d be easier for us?” Marty asks with a tilt of his head.

“The Leafs are an Original Six team,” Mitch says, “which _means_ that they have some of the oldest and most hardcore fans. And, well, age-wise especially, not everyone is really—would really be okay with Auston and I. So if something happens and someone finds out who tells others, we, and you guys, are fucked.”

“Oh bullshit,” JVR rolls his eyes. Mitch opens his mouth to defend his point, but James shakes his head. “You think we care about that shit? We care about _you_.”

Zach nods. “You two matter much more than any homophobic fans we might have.”

Auston sighs. “Thanks, but he is—he’s kind of right.”

“We’re saying we don’t care,” Gards says.

“You might,” Auston says. “You—Hymie, Willy—you two will be the first wingers of an openly gay center. When we get a captain, they’re gonna be the first captain of the first two out players in the league and it’s going to be a lot of questions about how we effect the team dynamic. It’s not gonna be simple for you guys. You’ll get a shit ton of questions about us, what it’s like to play with us, be on a team with us. It’ll be just as much your identities as it will be ours, as shitty as that is.”

“You’re going to be the _first out players in the NHL_ ,” Willy says forcefully. “You think everything is going to be worse for us than it is for you? You’re wrong.”

“We don’t— _I_ don’t really care about that,” Auston says, shrugging, and Mitch nods beside him. “I don’t want any of our team’s accomplishments to be over shadowed by the words ‘ _first_ ’ and ‘ _openly_ ’ and ‘ _out._ ’ We deserve more than that. _You_ deserve more than that.”

Mo stands up. “We don’t _deserve_ shit, guys,” he scoffs. “We work so we _earn_ respect and support. If we lose or gain any from something that you two didn’t choose, none of us care. We obviously never had their support to begin with.”

“Hell,” Brownie pipes in, “we might even gain a fuckton of fans just because of you two, and we won’t _deserve_ that, but it’ll happen anyways since we’d have the first out players.”

“People would be talking about us for a while,” Carrick says, nodding in agreement.

“But it’s not always going to be in a positive light,” Mitch argues. He doesn’t understand what they’re not seeing. “This team might lose a lot of support because of our sexualities.”

“Then _fuck_ them,” Marty spits out suddenly. His eyes are intense as he looks at Mitch and Auston, and then around the room. He stands up and shakes his head, tossing his shoulder pads into his stall, and then ambles over to the door in his skates. He shoves it open and walks out. Mitch looks at Auston and frowns in confusion, and Auston shrugs at him, seemingly just as confused. The room has stayed silent, half out of surprise by Marty’s sudden outburst, half out of confusion of his sudden departure. Everyone is waiting for someone else to say something, but no more than twenty seconds later Marty is pushing his way back into the room, holding a wooden plaque. Flipping it over to show the room, he stares directly at Mitch and Auston. “ _We_ can’t lose _this_.”

“Fuck, you’re a sap,” someone says to the right of Mitch. It might be Bozie, but he can’t be sure. His ears are ringing as he focuses on the picture plastered on the wooden frame. It’s the most recent team photo, and whoever said it is right—Marty is a sap, but Mitch still wants to cry a little bit.

Marty walks over and holds the picture in front of Mitch and Auston. “The team and our accomplishments are what we’re here for. We don’t _need_ fans. We _need_ you to go out there with us every night so we can win. Because that’s what we’re all here for—to win. Not to smile pretty for the cameras, not to do well for the fans, not to be in the public eye. We’re hockey players, not celebrities. We want to fuckin’ win, and you help us do that. We all fuckin’ love you for that, and if anyone thinks any differently, then _we don’t need them_.”

Mitch looks up at his friend and feels his eyes filling with tears. He blinks quickly, forcing them away, and moves to hug his friend. He pushes up on his toes and ignores the wooden plaque digging into his stomach and that Marty can’t hug him back—he’s just so _thankful_.

To have had Willy when he needed him most, that was… a blessing. To have been able to work things out with Erin and remain friends and _be_ with Auston? That was a dream come true, if he’s being honest. But to have his team’s whole support, backing him and Auston and willing to protect them to the ends of the earth (or fan base, rather) is—more than Mitch can explain. He could never have imagined a response like this, the team offering to protect them and keep them safe, and fight for them when they’ll need it. He thinks it’d be so easy to push them aside and not care, especially for the teammates they’re not as close to, but he’d even seen Boyler nodding along, Mac, too, even though the goalie had known them for just a short time.

He looks at Auston and smiles. He breathes easy.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> * two characters do hook up drunkenly, both give their consent drunkenly, and when they are sober both agree that it was alright with them, even after the fact and they have no negative feelings or connotations associated with it.  
> * internalized homophobia. or, rather just like??? fear? idk. i didn't tag it since i'm not 100% on it. i don't think it technically is, but it's??? something? or just flat out anxiety. but just in case.  
> * gay slurs. used by a gay character quoting others using them in a "different" context. if that’s something that makes you iffy, it is there, briefly. it only happens at one point, but it happens.  
> * anxiety attacks. there’s a lot of dialogue during them, so they're not extremely descriptive, but they are written out.  
> * i guess just: this story is kind of similar to my own and even some others' journeys, and elements have been pulled from real life, even if those elements aren’t always pleasant.  
> * please, please let me know if you find any other things that I should warn for, or if any of these y'all think should be in the tags. 
> 
> These warnings are not totally vague but I’d rather say too much than say too little, bc I don’t want anyone being upset or anything. 
> 
> So if you're wondering why he talks (thinks) about difficulty of breathing so much, this fic actually started because a) similar to my own experience but b) my therapist asked me where I felt my anxiety, which was weird, but after thinking-- it's in my lungs. I wanted to write something about it, and initially I was going to put it into a novel I'm writing, but it didn't fit. So... I ended up writing a 15k+ fic about Mitch Marner feeling anxiety and upset in his lungs and? Idk. 
> 
> "Is crisis starting to sound weird to anyone else?" It started looking so wrong when I was typing it, so I said it out loud and it sounded weird too. Kappy is me. 
> 
> I think the saying "when you know, you know" can be very true for some people. My parents were married nine months after they met, and they've always encouraged me to believe in love. I think Mitch and Auston knew, and Mitch's reluctance at a relationship faded with his acceptance of that. Some things are worth taking risks for (and Mitch probably wouldn't have given up hockey to be with Auston if society was completely non-tolerant of same-sex relationships, but while we have a VERY fucking long way to go, Mitch knew in the back of his head that he wouldn't ACTUALLY have to give up his dream, but just that it might make it a lil tougher) and Mitch thinks his happiness and Auston are worth all of those risks. 
> 
> I have about 2k started of Auston’s POV of this fic (zach werenski my fave is in it (fun fact i’m a jackets fan, what am i doing here?????)), but it might be months before I get around to finishing it, but like… I have ideas for it? Probably just a short 5-6k piece. I don’t know lmao. I originally wrote an epilogue for this, but it'd fit better with Auston's POV, so I'm saving it for that (so another 2k... maybe it'll be longer than 5-6k lmao).
> 
> Also, I might be adding snippets over time to a collection, but I won't make it a series/collection until I'm sure. I know a lot of this focused on Mitch and his anxiety and his friends helping him along and didn't focus too much on Mitch and Auston together. I'd like to add parts of their first season together as Mitch falls in love, to show where that anxiety he was having about not knowing what his heart was doing came from. I didn't do that in this because reasons (like this is more about Mitch’s journey than Mitch and Auston’s journey), so I'm hoping to be able to add them later on for y'all to read. Hopefully I'll do it soon and get one up. 
> 
> If you read the fic, thank you so much. If you read this long ass end-note, I'm sorry, I ramble a lot.


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